Patience and perspective

This painting by Townsend DavidsonTownsend Davidson hangs in Ashley River Tower at MUSC. 

I like how it plays with perspective the way supermoons do. 

Lost in space

     We watched a full moon rise Saturday night, with thin clouds bisecting it. I turned off the car radio to a chorus of complaints from the three kids jamming to the music so we could watch it in silence.

     “Why can’t we leave the radio on?” asks my teenager. “We can still see it rise.”

     Another child pipes in, “Are you even watching it or playing electronics?”

     “Uhh, yeah, where is it?”

     Explaining that this is a supermoon, bigger and brighter than ever for just this one night because of its closer passage to the Earth, I insist on a moment of silence to honor it. There’s a pause. “Oh my gosh, that’s incredible. It looks so big,” says the teenager who finally has looked.

     I’m pleased we can share this moment of a rising supermoon.  The moon gives me chills, dwarfing the horizon as it does, dwarfing me, reminding me of the celestial spin we’re on - of how we’re not the center of our own universe. I get the same feeling when I journal or serve at the family shelter or help a friend or watch one of my children sleep. It’s that being part of something bigger, that both shrinks and expands me at the same time.

      I start to comment on perspective, how important it is to switch gears for the celestial view sometimes, but I get interrupted.

     “Are we going to be there in time for the movie’s start?”

      I shake my head and smile, responding yes. I turn up the radio and flip on my turn signal. Moment over. But there, for an instance, I felt the Earth move.

DB

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     I am learning patience from my garden. It has been weeks now since I planted tomato, squash, and pepper plants (not to mention strawberries, but the birds take the fruit from those before I even have a chance to admire it), and finally there are signs that my care

for the plants has not been in vain. After all the watering, fertilizing, weeding, and checking on them every day, at last there are vegetables at different stages of development on all the plants.

      The first little tomatoes appeared a couple of weeks ago, and many more have joined them since. I even ate two red ripe fruits from the plant this week. The squash began coming in a bit later. I was amazed as I watched the large orange-yellow flowers seemingly turn inside out and become recognizable squash-shapes. Some of them should be ready to pick any day now (if the dreaded squash borer bugs my friend Carrie

told me about don't get to them first). 

     I had nearly given up on the green peppers. That plant was the last to flower, and having never watched vegetables grow (I'm embarrassed to admit), I was not even

sure which part would turn into the edible bell peppers like the ones I bought in stores. Just a few days ago, I finally saw that one little pepper-shape had formed, as if by magic, overnight. But it won't be ready to pick for awhile. It will need sunshine, rain, my continuing care, and time. I will just have to be patient.

SS

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Graduation at Furman University,  May 2012

     Graduation.  A time of endings and new beginnings.  For us, it's the end of an era of moving daughters in and out of Furman University each year. Savannah graduated on Saturday, moved out of her apartment on Sunday and began a whirlwind week of travel to discover what's next for her.  Graduation is an emotional rollercoaster for both students and their feeling-suddenly-much-older parents.  There's sadness over friends, professors and a beautiful campus left behind along with excitement, apprehension, and uncertainty over what lies ahead.  

     But in the midst is gratitude (at least from this mom's perspective).  Gratitude for great professors who were challenging teachers and good mentors,  for best friends and roommates who pulled each other through long study nights and college drama, and for those late night philosophical/spiritual/political conversations with friends that change and shape an outlook on life.   Gratitude for a beautiful, safe campus here in South Carolina and gratitude for study away programs to England, Scotland, Spain, New Orleans, Mexico and Turkey  which helped my daughters learn and experience more about this new global world in which we all live.

     A good education helps you grow into a person more interested in others than yourself; challenges your own (and your parents!) assumptions and beliefs about the world we live in; takes you places you've never been - both intellectually and physically;  and gives you friends to last a lifetime.

     For all these blessings and many more,  thanks Furman.

AF

Tomatoes, lemons, and remembering Clay

Please don't take offense at this:

I don't like tomatoes,

Normally, as a general rule.

But you are certainly the exception.

See, you are MY tomato,

And that changes things.

When I put a few vegetable plants in the ground,

Just a corner of the yard, two weeks ago,

I was only half-joking when I said aloud,

"Be fruitful and multiply"

As I covered your roots with compost and soil,

Hoping but fearful.

The problem is that I kill everything.

Keeping plants alive is not one of my skills,

And I told the man at the garden center as much.

"Not to worry," he said. "These are hearty."

I'm not sure I believed him,

Which is probably why I spoke my blessing as I planted. 

And now, through some strange alchemy,

Some miracle of sun and water, soil and fertilizer,

Time and luck, God and me,

Here you are, proof of life.

Small, green, promising ripeness in a few weeks.

By then, I may learn to love tomatoes.

SS
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      I reached in the onion bin to pull out an onion to chop for the Greek pasta salad I was preparing for dinner with friends who are staying with us.  It had been a busy week with two rounds of houseguests, leaky faucets, disappointing news, critters in the attic - plus the normal rush of work, church and life.
       But when I reached into the bin, I found not onions - but lemons.  In my hurried  absent-mindedness, I put the lemons in the onion bin - instead of in their proper place in the fridge. I've done this before - putting the cereal box in the fridge and the milk in the cabinet.  It's a cue to me, a red flag, that I've got too much going on in that moment or even in that day.  Absent-minded.  Those two words say it all.  My mind has gone AWOL and is off thinking about yesterday's worries or tomorrow's future stress.  I"m not at all focused on the present moment and the lemons end up in the onion bin. 
        Luckily, hiding under the pile of lemons was one yellow onion, just enough for a big bowl of pasta salad.  And the good news is that the dressing for the pasta salad used, you guessed it, fresh squeezed lemons.  Sometimes, life really does give you lemons,  and if it does, I have a great pasta salad recipe for you.

AF

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I Remember

      This week is my brother’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Clay!

      He would have been 52, but he’s eternally 33, always young in my mind. He asked me for two favors when he was dying. One was to help save him from the melanoma ravaging his body. Two was to not forget him.

      Of course, I could do nothing to save him, other than be there for the rough journey.   But remember him I have.

      Unlike my Mom, I don’t visit him at his gravesite. He’s not there for me. But when my boys play their sports and score a goal, I can hear my brother, who was an awesome athlete, cheering them on with me. I know he’s ecstatic that his frilly, ballet/jazz/tap sister ended up with three boys who can wield a Barbie as a substitute gun toy. He’d love that I sometimes wear camouflage instead of pink and have bruises from fending off his nephews.

      When I went to the movie, Hunger Games, I smiled at a gory scene he would have liked. He loved action, fantasy and horror movies. Sometimes I go to one just because I know he would have loved it. I'll laugh at jokes I know his mischievous self would have liked. I can still hear his deep, rich laugh.

      I have a friend who also lost her brother, but she says she rarely thinks of him now that so many years have passed. We all have our ways of coping, but for me, to remember is good – bittersweet and soul enriching.

      You mattered, Clay. I probably wouldn’t have had kids had I not lost you. My oldest son is named for you.  I remember.

      And I forgive you for calling me egghead, bookworm and apestink.

DB

 

     Although it is usually just said as an expression of boredom, lately I have literally been watching the grass grow. I decided that this spring, my first with my very own yard, I would find out how exactly one takes care of grass. Up until recently the extent of my knowledge was that you mow it when it gets too high. But now, I am doing my research, finding out about fertilizers and pre-emergent treatments, pest control and overwatering. 

      I attended a lawn care seminar at a local garden center last Saturday, and they told me that once my grass greens up, I should bring in a sample of it so they can tell me what kind it is and what I need to do to keep it looking its best. The weeds that are overrunning the grass right now, I was told to leave alone. They are winter weeds and will die soon anyway. By next year, with regular applications of pre-emergents, hopefully they won't be so out of control. 

     I'm thankful for the wisdom of experts, for their recommendation of caution and patience. Without it, I may have just hosed down the whole place with Roundup and started from scratch. This way takes more time and effort, but I can just imagine how satisfying it will be to look at my healthy lawn and remember how far we have come.

SS

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     It’s church yard sale weekend.  Providence is participating in the Red Balloon Yard sale on Daniel Island and so I’ve been weeding out clutter to donate.  An old foot massager.  Several remote control cars.  An alarm clock that still works but isn’t needed. Books. Old vases. A CD player.  An ancient Nintendo gameboy.  More books and bric-a-brac.  Unused photo albums. Where did all this stuff come from? My daughter, Savannah, who is home for spring break, goes through her closet and donates a half-dozen posters, a baby doll, several beanie babies, giant pink monster slippers, and some random trinkets. But it’s the bears that stop me.

       In Alison’s closet, I find the bears she loved as a toddler, with the uninspired names of Pink Bear and Bear Bear.  At two and a half, for reasons known only to her, Alison pronounced Bear Bear with an affected Scarlett O’Hara accent -  “Bay-uh, bay-uh.”  Even though Alison has now married and moved to St. Louis, leaving Bear Bear behind without a thought, I haven’t been able to muster up the grit to send the bears along to a new owner.  It’s time I decide - but first, I take a picture.  

     It’s my new de-cluttering strategy.  If I’m feeling too sentimental to get rid of something - even if that something has been stored in a box in a closet for ten years - I simply take a picture of it.  The memory can remain with the picture, taking up a lot less real estate than a box full of stuffed animals in a closet.  I’m feeling brave, so I photograph Big Bear (a five foot tall bear who has lived in Alison’s room for years) and sent him off to the yard sale as well. Those bears will find new children to love them and their digital image will remain to trigger memories and inspire blog posts.  The pictures of the bears are now safely stored in a file on my computer named “Favorite Old Things.”  

      Letting go of what we love is never easy... but it does free up closet space.

AF

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FOCAL POINT

The key to success is to focus our conscious mind on things we desire 

not things we fear.                                             ~Brian Tracy

I took a walk with a photographer friend of mine who took this shot.

It's amazing what a long lens and shallow depth of field can do. Likewise in life we can change focus and reframe events.

It is said we are the stories we tell ourselves.  Can it really be that simple?

For a March day, it was.

Hello, spring.

DB

February thoughts

(Photo courtesy. www.trappist.net)

Early Morning

     It’s 4 o’clock in the morning. 

     I stare out the window watching the night rotate into day. I woke for some reason and hope to go back to sleep without my mind going down my to-do list for the day. The harder I fight to go to sleep, the more it eludes me. 

     Finally the dark shifts to the deepest of blues, a hue of the blue that reminds me of a retreat I took at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, Ga. It’s been four years since my retreat there, but there are images that stick to me - that flow through my dreams.

     One is of the interior chapel at Vigils and Compline or evening prayers, the sun serving as a color wheel casting shades of dappled blues along the arches. I know the monks are in chapel praying and chanting now.

     I am not alone. My heart sings with them.

     I drift back to sleep.

DB

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     This has been my view for much of the week. I've had a lot of writing to do the past few days. What keeps drawing my attention is the space bar, and that worn out place in the middle where my thumbs have landed thousands of times. I can't help but wonder, if my life were a keyboard, which would be the worn out keys? Do I land most often on worry, fear, jealousy, anger? Or on hope, kindness, faith, love, joy? 

     I know which I want to be true, but still I wonder.

SS

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Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; 

they toil not, neither do they spin.   Matthew 6:28

     Laziness can have surprising benefits.   Last winter, I carefully planted shoots of baby romaine lettuce in a garden pot filled with fresh soil and a little compost.  The romaine loved the cool winter and I harvested romaine until the days got too warm.  When the lettuce bolted, I pulled it out and replanted the pot with sweet basil for the summer.  

     This winter found me lacking in time and energy for the garden.  I pulled the frost bitten basil out of the pot in late November and simply stored the pot full of dirt beside the house without even a plan for spring.  And look what happened!

      Free lettuce! Volunteer shoots of romaine appeared, growing again in the container.  I watered it a bit and now I have another winter of fresh romaine. 

     I love finding these small miracles in my life  - even when I've done nothing to deserve them.

AF

     

Two trees and a lot of weeds

      Most people enjoy crepe myrtle trees for their lavish, brilliantly colored blooms in summer or for their fiery fall foliage.   I enjoy those - but I think most of all, I love the bones.  The tree trunks and branches, enjoyed best in winter when those show-stopping blooms have faded and even the bright leaves have drifted away, remind me of fine, elegant bone.  The rough bark peels away in winter, leaving only the smooth inner trunk that feels like finely sanded wood when you rub your hands along it.  Stripped of pretense and adornment, the tree is bare bones and pure essence, deeply rooted in the earth, reaching for the sky.

      Native Americans called trees our “standing brothers and sisters.”  We both stand upright, with a vertical orientation to life.  Trees grow deep into one small piece of the earth.  They bend and flex with the wind, aching against the storms that blow through.  The leaves reach for the sun, as the branches grow and stretch upward.

      Thoreau knew what is was to be a friend of trees. He writes "I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech-tree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines."   Sometimes, it is enough, just to sit with the living bones of the crepe myrtle, breathing in God, knowing that my own roots reach deep and that I, too, can reach for the sun.

AF

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Tulip Time

I spotted my first tulip trees last week, chocked full of pink blossoms that resemble slender ballerina slippers on point. It’s one of my favorite trees, more subdued than its flashier cousin, the lovely Magnolia, with its blossoms the size of Sunday-go-to-meeting hats. What I love most about these trees, though, is how they bloom first, in the midst of a dreary winter landscape. You have to admire their panache, how they fly in the face of possible freezing weather. It’s a reminder to me of the season change to come, and the precious things happening in the bleakest moments preceding the avalanche of  spring.

Much of life happens in these bleak moments of limbo. When I see these blossoms that open up like cups, it reminds me of the popular Zen story about a university professor who goes to visit a Zen master.  The master serves the tea, pouring his visitor’s cup full, and then to the point of overflowing. Unable to restrain himself, the professor tells him, "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," the master said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

When I see a tulip blossom, I take a breath, and remember to empty my cup.

DB

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        Recently, I spent a good three or four hours pulling weeds in my yard.  My knees and back are still screaming at me about it.  When I bought a house last year, I was excited to have a backyard of my own for the first time.  However, the previous owners had left the yard a terrible mess, and I have been working on it little by little for the past six months, whenever the weather and my schedule will allow. 

       The weeding is the worst.  It seems to me that I just pulled all these weeds from exactly the same places in the yard, and now they're back.  And in a few weeks, I'll have to do it all over again.  I hate maintenance.  Once I do something, I want it to stay done.  I'm still angry that I worked really hard and lost 60 lbs a few years ago, and now I'm trying to do it again because all those pounds came back and brought friends.  It is so disgustingly unfair!  

     As I pondered the injustice of it all during those hours pulling weeds, it occurred to me that this is the rule for everything in life really.  It would be wonderful if you could say your vows and then just get to enjoy being married for the rest of your life, but it takes a lot more work to stay married than to get married.  I'm sure every mother would love to relax after delivering the baby and say, "Whew, I'm glad the hard part is over," but of course it only gets much harder from there.  Learn a new language, play a sport, or buy a car, and you will have to continue the work of maintenance if you want to keep it. 

       When I first joined a church, I heard the old Baptist adage, "Once saved, always saved," and I think I got the idea that I would be safe coasting through my Christian life with no maintenance.  But now I realize how foolish I was to think that faith would be so different from the rest of life.  Much as I hate to contradict old Baptist adages, I'm much more inclined to agree with Paul's admonition (Philippians 2:12) to "work out your own salvation with fear and trembling."  That is what I find myself doing, and it is often frustrating, painful, difficult work.  It is the love of God that keeps me motivated to continue, but also the fear -- not fear of God, for if I did not believe God was on my side I couldn't do it at all, but fear of the terrible mess my life would become without constant weeding.

SS